Malfoy Manner: Complicated Relations
by mrs.milfoy
Summary: The Malfoys attend Harry Potter's engagement party - with breathtaking results. Warnings for incest and bad 80's movie viewing.
1. Casual Attire

Part the First: Casual Attire

Draco was still scowling at the invitation when his mother entered the sunny solarium. She hummed softly when he hugged her to him and kissed the pooch of her belly. "Bad news?" She asked, ruffling his hair.

In answer, he flicked the missive up to her. She took it and sat across from him, crossing her legs until creamy skin escaped teal silk. Her spoon was magically stirring her coffee as she read. The resulting smirk was both inviting and wary. "Oh my," she breathed. "This _does _pose a rather awkward possibility."

"We aren't going." Draco straightened a cuff, assuring only a quarter inch was visible peeking from his suit jacket. He leveled his business gaze at her.

Her smirk switched sides, ready to war. "I think it would be in poor taste to refuse. After all, Mr. Potter most kindly accepted our invitation to my birthday -"

"Where he _fucked _you, mother. With me," Draco interrupted smoothly. He snapped the Daily Prophet open, hiding his face. "I think our presence at his engagement party would be..." He sputtered for a second. "...incredibly precarious."

A moment of silence. Then, slowly, his newspaper curled downward beneath her magic. He saw the tip of her wand and followed the tool up graceful arm to beautiful (if sardonic) face. "What?" He exclaimed.

"Lest you've forgotten," she began - and he knew that whatever she was about to say, she was going to be right. "_You _ are the one who made us cogent confidantes to the Weasley clan. _You_ re-built the Hogwarts quidditch pitch. _You_ are the newest governor on the school's distinguished board."

He grimaced in pain, saw her point quite clearly, but had one of his own. "And _you_ are the one who wanted to be doubly penetrated by Harry Potter and myself, mother." Her mouth snapped closed abruptly. "Lest you've forgotten?" He drawled. She looked down at her tea, blushing and a little chastised. "Hmmmm?" He urged.

She muttered something unintelligible. He leaned over the table. "What was that?"

"I said I've not forgotten!" She snapped.

"I should think not," he replied, completely self-satisfied. His gaze dropped to her gaping dressing gown - to the bare curve of breast exposed. "It was a memorable evening, after all."

The secretive smile that spread across her face was sweet, alluring and dangerous. "It was, indeed," she murmured.

Draco licked his lips and folded his crumpled Prophet. He sighed heavily. "You _are_ right, though." His fingernails were suddenly very interesting. "It would seem peculiar for us to be absent after making ourselves so..."

"Conspicuous to the cause?" She offered.

"Mm." He grunted agreement. His face worked its consideration. "I suppose we should go."

"I think so," Narcissa said gently.

He perked up a bit. "Or we could just send our regards. And a truly obnoxious wedding gift. Like a...a boat! Or a really big bed?"

His eyes were truly hopeful and she couldn't contain a laugh at the bare desperation. "I think at least an appearance is in order, son."

He pouted, rested his chin on his hand. "Back to Grimmauld Place, then."

She nodded. "Yes."

He glanced up at her. "Let's stay away from that cemetery this time."

She nodded again. "Naturally."

"And we'll just...avoid Potter as much as possible."

More nodding. "Seems a sound strategy."

"_And _ his future wife."

Vehement nodding. "Most definitely."

"Mum."

"Yes?"

"This is going to get complicated."

Her nose twitched. "Probably."

Draco plucked the elaborate invitation from her hands. Scanned it again. "What the devil does 'casual dress' mean, exactly?" She shrugged. "Do we have any casual attire?"

Narcissa blinked at the vaulted ceiling for a moment, thinking. "I believe I've a tea-length frock somewhere in cotton..."

Draco sat back in his seat and tossed the scroll to the table. "Bloody mess," he muttered. He looked at a loss. Narcissa looked sympathetic. She pasted on her most nurturing smile and reached across the table to pat his hand.

"It's a fortnight away, love. You shouldn't bother yourself over it."

Draco blinked. "A fortnight, Narcissa? Have you been reading one of those dreadful period novels?"

She didn't let his taunt deter her. "I'm trying to be a comforting mother, you insolent prat."

"Comforting?"

The pat on his hand turned to a caress. She watched his eyes fall to her chest, well aware her dressing gown was gaping even more so when she leant forward. "Comforting," she whispered.

"I have a meeting at the Ministry in an hour," he murmured.

"Comfort can take less than an hour." Her fingers played with his.

"Can it?" From under dark fringe, her eyes glimmered. She nodded. Draco's cock twitched with an idea. "And can it take place at the breakfast table?" Here, she hesitated. He knew why, and allayed her fears. "If the house elf has been assigned a deep clean in the west wing?"

Her brow arched and she rose impossibly slowly from her chair. "I suppose it can."

He grinned as she approached. "Excellent."

Peacocks scratched outside the cracked patio window. Occasionally, one of them unleashed its mournful cry, mate answering with her strange cluck. Draco and Narcissa Malfoy hardly noticed. In the sunny solarium, they mated in their own way; satin folds falling open, legs folding closed round slim hips snapping, gasps turned to sighs to cries to laughter, mouth on breast, arms over shoulders, back to table, mouth to mouth.

Draco was fourteen minutes late for his meeting.

Narcissa stood in the middle of her dressing room. She tapped a French manicured nail against straight, white teeth, considering the three outfits that hovered in midair upon their silk hangers. _Casual_, she thought. _Right._

#1. Black pencil skirt and white sleeveless blouse. _Rather mugglish, really. But Potter is a bit mugglish and the damn Granger girl will be gobsmacked if I show up in this._ Smacking the Granger girl - in any way possible - was a deeply appealing thought. However, the blouse was quite sheer, and the Malfoy matron knew she had memories of a night of triply shared passion to avoid awakening in the future groom. So she flicked her wand, sending #1 back to its place on the rack.

#2. A wrap style dress in pleasant mauve cotton blend. _Lovely color for spring. And very flattering on me. _The gathers cinched her already trim waist and accentuated her hips. Her lips pursed. _But. The neck does dip rather steeply. Not very conservative. Perhaps with a camisole beneath? _The image of delicate lace or silk visible across her chest gave her further pause. _Perhaps not._ Her wand flicked. The dress flew. Back to the rack.

#3. Flaring skirt with button-up blouse. Simple black and white. Stiff collar. Short sleeves with equally stiff hems. _Perfect. _She stared at it. Lip curled. _Gods, it's dreadful. So bloody matronly. When did I even acquire these clothes? _She raised her wand, then hesitated. _But I __**want**__ to look matronly. Right? Not like the deviant maven who seduced her son's young associate...with her son. _

"Oh, hell." She groused, running a hand down her face. Her wand flick sent the dress to a hook on her dressing screen. "I'm wearing it."

She hummed while she bathed, a soothing tune. Took her time in ablutions. In her cotton robe, she sat to her vanity. Very little make-up. _Draw no unnecessary attention. _Dab of powder. Sheer pink lip. Hint of sky blue over the eye. _There. _She kissed at the mirror. _Very...nice. _

_Hair. _She took a deep breath. It was too long now, in her opinion - falling over her breasts and down her back. Easily tangled. A mess of black and white that usually required a charm for brushing and an extreme amount of conditioning potion. But Draco adored it and grew vehement when she mentioned cutting it. So it stayed. Long as the day.

She sighed and touched her wand to her brush. The magical instrument made quick work of tangles, but air drying brought out her abundant natural curls. So she needed to be fast with her styling. _Wrapped_, she decided. _And pinned. _It would hide curls, and cut her readying time in half.

In fact, she was dressed quite quickly. Stepped into a pair of thick, three inch heels and turned to her mirror with a fresh, welcoming, close-lipped smile.

The smile fell immediately. "What have I done?" She asked aloud. Her reflection had no answer, and at that moment, her door opened.

Draco drew up short, stopped mid-address. "Mother, I - " He stared at her. Blinked rapidly a few times. "Good gods. What have you done?"

Frustration finally won out. "Oh, stop it!" She turned away from him and her own reflection. "I can't dress this way. I don't know how to look 'casual' and I can't seem to look like anything other than the harlot in blue velvet who lured two men twenty five years her junior to her bed!" She sat on the edge of said bed. "And that will not do. Not in this situation."

Draco covered a grin with his fingers, still appraising the woman he assumed was his mother. "You really were smashing in that blue velvet number."

"Draco."

"Narcissa." He knelt before her. "You can't help you're devastatingly beautiful. And no amount of..." He waved a hand at her attire. "...this is going to change that. You could show up wearing Molly Weasley's lounging dress and Potter would still remember how dead gorgeous you were the night he shared you with me." He reached for her hair and began releasing pins.

Soon curls spilled over her shoulders and Draco touched them softly. "Lovely," he murmured. "Now take this..._this_ off. And let me pick for you."

"Draco - "

"Don't worry!" He interrupted. "I promise I won't put you back in the Aphrodite costume."

He stood and headed for her closet.

"And not that blue velvet frock, either!" She warned.

"Damn." He grumbled from inside. There was the swish of magic, clinking of hangers. Finally, "Ah." He emerged triumphant. "This."

"That?" Her eyebrows rose. He'd made a perfect - if surprising - choice. A white fitted cotton frock printed all over with small blue flowers. It was sleeveless, with a demure dip into cleavage. She took it from him. "That's...very good, son."

He leaned into her space, whispered in her ear. "Don't act so surprised. I like thinking about fucking you in it."

_Of course he does. _She brushed her lips over his cheek. "Well perhaps when we get home...?"

"Perhaps my arse." He rubbed a generous hardness against her hip. "I guarantee it."

She flushed, tightened at the very thought. "I'll dress, then. And we'll be off?"

"Right." Draco sat on the bed, leaned on his elbows leisurely. "Carry on."

She smirked, removing her robe. "And you? Shouldn't you finish dressing?"

"I am finished." He shrugged. "Casual."

Naked, holding frock to chest, she gaped scandalized. "You can't be serious!" She spoke over his laughter. "You've no shirt on! I mean, no proper shirt on. And where is your belt? You should at least tuck that in!"

"Mum!" He controlled his humor. "It's casual. There will be tons of half-bloods and muggle borns there and maybe even muggles. You know how these people are. We'll look fine." He plucked at the grey tee he wore. "Besides, it's quite comfortable. And I think the jacket dresses it up nicely." He knew this was killing her.

"It's just...incomplete, Draco." She tisked. Had to look away from him. "Let's just be brief in our visit. I think that will be the best solution."

"Brilliant." He was either referring to her suggestion, or her arse as she shimmied into her dress. Either way - brilliant.

She slipped on blue ballet flats and a navy jumper, then looked to her son and twirled. "Well?"

Draco licked his lips. "Amazing."

"I look like a muggle."

"I've seen some pretty amazing muggle women, mum."

She bristled. "_Have_ you, now?"

"Well, only one or two," he amended quickly.

She sighed. "What time is it?"

"We're already fashionably late."

"Good." A quick nod. "Potter will be well distracted when we arrive." They descended the stairs, Narcissa's arm tucked inside Draco's. On the sunny manor stoop, they paused. "Draco?"

He looked down at her. Nervousness was charming on her pretty features. "Yes?"

"This _is _going to be complicated. Isn't it?"

He smirked. Pulled her closer to him. They apparated with a soft, practiced pop.

**AN: **Part the second coming soon - guaranteed to take your breath away. Happy birthday, soul freak.


	2. Danger Zone

Part the Second: Danger Zone

Narcissa was right. Being half an hour late ensured their arrival was relatively understated. It was Molly Weasley who greeted them at Grimmauld's door, excitedly rushing them down the dusty hallway to the dining room. There must have been thirty people present, all prepared to hear a toast, so the Malfoys managed to insinuate themselves near the dining room's archway with no notice.

Harry Potter stood at the head of the rustic table, a hand on Ginny Weasley's shoulder (and Draco couldn't help remembering that hand cupping Narcissa's breast beneath blue velvet). In fact the only eyes they didn't manage to slip past were Potters; green eyes flashed up from wife to be, blinked profusely, and fell just as quickly. Draco looked askance at Narcissa - the source of Potter's glance. There was a congenial smile plastered on her pretty lips.

Arthur Weasley began to talk, raising a glass of something. Mismatched glasses followed suit, and Draco felt one pressed into his own hand. "Oh!" He only sloshed the contents a little as he joined the toast.

"Harry Potter has felt like a son to me for some time," Arthur announced. Draco hid an eyeroll, saw his mother grin behind the rim of her own glass. She winced. The wine was too sweet. "And now...he's finally becoming my _real _son." The Weasley patriarch - pink cheeked - droned on. "Blah blah blah more emotional, sentimental ginger ramblings and winks for the idiots giggling at said ramblings..."

Draco just drank. He heard his mother whispering to someone and looked to see her in a hushed exchange with Molly. "So glad you both could come!" The Weasley matriarch beamed. "Harry had said he was worried you'd be busy with the Board, Mr. Malfoy."

He swallowed his mouthful of moscato too quickly, spluttered a bit when he replied. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Mrs. Weasley." When she chuckled, her ample bosom quivered. She moved on refilling more glasses with horrible wine, and still, Arthur droned.

Narcissa's arm brushed Draco's, their fingers meeting for a second's breath. "I saw that," she whispered.

"Saw what?" He leaned toward her, catching his first whiff of her spicy perfume.

"I saw you looking at Molly Weasley's cleavage."

She was teasing him. His lips tightened. "Hard to look at anything else, mother. It's everywhere." Her compact body shook with laughter. "Oh, there's Kingsley!" Draco could tease, too. "Perhaps he'll be inspecting your tonsils again. With his teeth." Her toes pressed hard on his. In response, he squeezed her bum.

"Hello, Draco. Mrs. Malfoy."

They whirled at the calm, airy greeting from behind, both well aware Draco's hand had just been molesting Narcissa's arse. "Luna!" Draco greeted too loudly. Heads turned. He lowered his voice. "Good to see you!" Truthfully, it was a terrifying moment, and Narcissa's eyes reflected this.

"You're very polite now, Draco." Luna made no mention of and showed no reaction to a caress she may or may not have witnessed. "And Mrs. Malfoy, you look very nice in casual dress. I imagine you had difficulty given the formality of your usual wardrobe. Well, I hope you enjoy the party. Arthur becomes quite verbose when he's been in the cups." Then the girl departed into the crowd with her usual fairy-like float, leaving both Malfoys gobsmacked.

"What the hell was that?" Narcissa asked.

Draco quirked a brow at her uncharacteristic swear. "That was Luna Longbottom."

"Mr. Malfoy?" Draco groaned inwardly. _Will the horrors never end? _Arthur's toast had finally dwindled to applause (probably more from relief than appreciation) , and mingling had begun.

"Kingsley!" Draco turned. He felt his mother tense beside him. "Good to see you, sir."

"Minister." Narcissa was ever graceful.

Kingsley bowed deeply to her. He was forever cowed by the mistaken kiss he'd given her during Samhain celebration in this very kitchen. "Mrs. Malfoy. I'm humbled you still see fit to acknowledge me."

"I thought we would never speak of that misunderstanding again, Kingsley," she said quietly. "I know the high quality of wizard you are, and forgive the equally high quality of firewhiskey consumed by all that evening." She smiled graciously.

Draco silently marveled at her social propriety. _Gods, she's good. _If Kingsley's blush could show past his dark complexion, it would have.

"Well, then," the Minister continued. "I am pleased the two of you joined us here tonight. We're all so happy for Harry and Ginny."

"Absolutely," Narcissa cooed. "Two people were never more suited for one another."

"True, true." Kingsley looked fondly at the mingling couple in question, then back to Draco. "And someday, Mr. Malfoy, we'll be attending an event such as this one for you!"

"Will we?" Draco couldn't prevent the automatic response nor the climb in octave that accompanied it. Thankfully, his mother stepped in as usual.

Her musical laughter covered his untoward gawking. "Yes, indeed, Minister." She looked at Draco, something lurking beneath her smile. "Someday." He stared back at her.

"Draco. Mrs. Malfoy."

_Saved from awkwardness by even greater awkwardness,_ Draco thought. "Potter!" He grabbed the scarhead's hand. They each struggled inwardly for a moment with the possibility of the masculine half-hug and gratefully decided against it. "And the lovely future Mrs. Potter." Draco bowed elegantly to Ginny, who smiled pleasantness and cheer. "Congratulations to you both."

"Thank you," Ginny murmured. She gazed upon Harry with such love that Draco nearly felt a pang of guilt. Nearly.

"I do wish you both the best," Narcissa ventured. "In all things together." Her eyes spoke genuine feeling, and the pair received it well.

Potter took Narcissa's hand - a rather surprising gesture - and Draco felt time slow. "Thank you...Narcissa," he intoned lowly. In fact, it was highly doubtful his fiancé had heard the address, involved as she was in conversing with Kingsley. Draco cleared his throat. His mother flushed a bit. "Glad you both came." Potter suddenly stymied. "To the party!" He amended. A full red flush spread from his chin to his forehead.

A sudden blurt of nervous laughter exploded past Narcissa's normal pristine composure. "Yes, of course!" Draco was suddenly compelled to laugh, as well - and flee.

"Lovely gathering, Potter." He gestured with his quickly emptied glass. "You'll never want for friends."

"No," Harry agreed.

"Oy!" Another inward groan as the Weasel approached. "How are you, Malfoy?" Ron extended a rather sweaty hand.

Draco shook it. "Well, Mr. Weasley. Yourself?" _Get me the hell out of here. _But quidditch talk ensued, the cluster including Potter, Weasley, Kingsley, Arthur and a beleaguered Draco. He watched his mother look positively engaging in her corresponding conversation with Ginny, Molly, Luna and the Know-It-All.

_Time __**has**__ slowed,_ he thought. _And it wants me to die here. _He was hardly following the names of the teams, more intent on devising escape. His empty glass beckoned, and he followed its inspiration. "I say," he interrupted smoothly. "I'm off to find more wine. Shall I bring some to you gentlemen?" There were murmurs of appreciation, and he ducked through the mingling pods with ease. He felt his mother's accusing eyes at his back, but she would simply have to fend for herself.

Draco wasn't completely familiar with Grimmauld Place. He'd only visited once before, but he at least knew where the kitchen was. And that would be the most sensible place for wine. However, he was truly in search of solace - not libations - and ducked past a corner and into a hallway. _I'll simply claim I was seeking the wine cellar. _

He smirked at his own brilliance and mounted creaky stairs. _The Blacks certainly seemed to lack the architectural stylings of the Malfoys,_ he thought. _I'll have to tease mother later._

The noise of the party below was far muted on the second floor. Draco wandered, past the covered portraits (_Curious, that._), past closed doors and an opened lavatory to a cracked door at the end of the hall. He peered inside. Dusk filtered blue light through sheer curtains, revealing a comfy looking couch and a coffee table ripe for foot-propping. Checking to be certain he wasn't followed, he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

"What in Merlin's name..." He murmured. The walls were decorated with odd art - still images of (obviously) muggles in various states; some held musical instruments, some were obviously sporting types in uniform, and some were scantily clad muggle women. "What are Sex Pistols?" He fingered the curling edges of the aged posters. "Bloody strange."

But the room was blessedly quiet, and seemed a safe place to hide for a bit. He sat on the sofa, surprised when he sank a few inches into the plush cushions, and sighed relief. _Mistake coming here. I hope mum's alright. _He imagined she would be well-roped into conversing with Molly and the others about whatever witches conversed about. _Hairstyles and shoes, probably. Gah._

There was a slender, oblong box on the table. It had buttons on. He picked it up, then propped his feet and studied the designs as if they were mysterious runes. He looked up, recognized the cubic object projecting his reflection. "Muggle tellyvision!" He'd seen them in the muggle studies classroom and heard fellow students discussing them, but he'd never been at liberty per se to reveal his curiosities.

But now... He pressed the button on the remote that read 'power.'

The set blinked to life, staticy images flickering there. He squinted, could barely make out the shapes of people and perhaps cars. He pressed the arrow button and the images changed. "Huh." He pressed until a clear image showed. "Oh!"

Airplanes. Muggle airplanes. Fast ones! Grinning like a fool, he pressed on the 'volume' button until he heard the racket of powerful mudblood machines rocketing across the sky. They left trails like Death Eaters in their wakes, and some muggle was singing about riding into a danger zone. "Amazing," Draco whispered. Looked like fun, really.

He settled into the cushions and watched an odd muggle story unfold. There was a handsome protagonist, apparently quite talented at piloting his flying machine. _Cocky bastard. _Draco immediately liked him. This was obviously a quality example of muggle film excellence. Soon, the wizard was fully absorbed in the tale. In fact, he was so absorbed, he didn't hear his hiding place's door opening...or clicking shut.

What he _did_ hear was: "You skivving little skink!" A swat stung the back of his head.

"Bollocks!" He lurched to attention - a clumsy action given the furniture's thick embrace - and instinctively reached for his wand inside his jacket. "Mother/!"

She glared down at him, pink with anger and no doubt frustration. _Sexy as hell._ "Yes, _mother_," she hissed. "Forget about me? Obviously. You left me at the mercy of those...witches! Not to mention Kingsley Shacklebolt who seems to have adopted apologizing to me as a new hobby. And then Potter came back around -"

"Did he say anything?"

"As if you give a damn!" Narcissa pointed to the door. "I think we should leave. Now. Before they begin opening gifts and notice we're missing." Draco chewed his lip. He looked longingly back to the telly. She didn't miss the gaze. "What is that?"

"It's muggle telly," he explained. "Really rather interesting!" He was loath to leave without learning the fates of Maverick, Goose and Ice Man... And if he was lucky, his mother's innate curiosity might just keep them here long enough to finish the film.

"I see." She looked around, still seeing apparently. "This must have been Sirius' room. He was as muggle-obsessed as Andromeda was." A brief regret darkened her features, but she shook it off. "What's this program then?"

_Yes! _He gave an internal fist pump of victory. "I don't know what it's called. But it has these muggle planes." He gestured excitedly. "And they're quite fast. _Really_ fast. And these men - those men right there - they drive the planes. And here they are at this class where they get to learn to drive the planes even faster, I suppose. And this woman - that woman! - she teaches the class. And that man - the dark haired one with the the obnoxious glasses - he fancies her, but she's rather off him, I think. Though that doesn't seem to stop him serenading her like a nunce and making a right arse of himself. So now, they're -"

"Draco?"

"Hm?"

She sat beside him on the couch, gasping when the furniture absorbed her. "I think I can piece together the finer details of such simple muggle claptrap."

"Ah."

"Get your feet off the furnishings."

"Yes, mum."

"And we're leaving as soon as this ends."

"Yes, mum."

They watched in silence for a moment. Draco looked often from the telly to his mother, gauging her reactions to the intensifying competition between the muggle fliers. She seemed relatively nonplussed. But then again, the low light could have been hiding her expressions. He'd begun to lose himself in the film again when her commentary started. _Of course..._

"Gods. Is that how muggle women dress themselves? She looks like a castoff. And that hair. It's worse than the Granger girl's." Draco grinned. "Is she their superior? Rather nice, that." She relaxed into the couch. "Typical. Wizards never take criticism well, particularly from witches."

"These are muggles, mum."

"Same thing." He snorted. Their shoulders touched. Narcissa sighed a comfortable sigh and Draco draped an arm casually over the couch behind her. She tisked. "Look at that. No different from wizards on their brooms. He'll kill himself on that motorbike."

"He drives F-40's, mum. I think he'll be fine on the motorbike."

"Well, the muggle wench didn't care for his driving skills. As if she should talk! Look at that!" Cissa gestured rudely to the telly. "Even I could drive that car better and I've never driven a car!"

"Sssh! I can't hear what they're saying." But Draco chuckled just the same. Squeezed his mother a bit closer to his side.

"Did you shush me?" She asked, looking at him.

"Ssh." He shushed her again. "They're talking."

"Yes, she's probably telling him what a great arse he is and he's probably shushing her - Oh." Her eyes widened beatifically. "They're..."

"Kissing," they murmured together.

Draco nodded, pleased with this turn of events. "I had a feeling she was keen on him, too."

"Hm." Silence reigned again as they watched the muggle man and woman on screen, bathed in a similar evening light, move their amorous activities to a horizontal position. Narcissa cleared her throat softly. "Muggles would do well to keep their boudoir activities private. As is proper." Draco shifted, maneuvering against the sudden tightness in his trousers. His fingertips stroked his mother's neck. "They certainly are fond of tongues," she whispered.

"Mmhm." He was thinking of her tongue, at the moment. Moved his finger's stroking to the edge of her jaw.

"The music is rather nice," she murmured. Her neck arched instinctively and Draco cupped the back of her neck. "Draco?"

"I think I like this song," he whispered. Then, his lips descended delicately upon hers.

**AN: **The film Draco and Narcissa are enjoying is _Top Gun_, of course, and I mean no copyright infringement upon it. Next chapter coming soon - nothing but smut, wherein on an endless ocean, finally our lovers know no shame...


	3. Some Secret Place to Hide

Part the Third: Some Secret Place to Hide

_Watching every motion in my foolish lover's game _

_On this endless ocean finally lovers know no shame_

Vaguely, Draco heard the muggle woman still singing her husky refrain. Vaguely, he saw the flicker of the television against his fluttering lids. Mostly, his awareness focused sharply, intensely, on the woman he was kissing. How sweetly her body yielded, folded into his embrace. How her mouth tasted like too-sweet moscato. How her tongue tickled, licking and flicking lightly at his own.

Their fingers caressed each other's faces, curled in hair and encouraged experimental angles. He couldn't remember the last time they'd simply kissed this way. It was intoxicating. Distracting. _Bloody frustrating._

Smoothly, he slid his hands beneath the navy jumper she wore. Like a knowledgeable dance partner, she lowered her arms, allowed him to sluice the cashmere down her porcelain arms before turning her attention to his jacket. She was an excellent multi-tasker, mounted his lap as she worked his soft tee up. They broke contact for a second when he raised his arms and felt the mugglish attire flit over his head.

_Turning and returning to some secret place inside _

_Watching in slow motion as you turn around and say..._

Still she kissed him, fingers dancing over his bared skin. He felt gooseflesh raise in the wake of her touch, cambered into each caress. Her frock was soft and fitted, inviting him to cup and squeeze her breasts. She moaned gently, tilted her head back. Boldly, he licked up the column of her throat. His fingers worked free her tiny buttons, rucked up her skirt to part the material. Her breath shallowed when he skimmed her belly.

_Take my breath away..._

She drew her arms away from him one at a time, shrugged the dress off completely. "Narcissa," he murmured. They were too far gone not to make love, too far gone to worry for propriety. And the cerulean hues penetrating the room were doing incredible things to her skin. She pushed her already puckered nipples further into his mouth and he watched her arch gracefully.

_Watching I keep waiting still anticipating love_

_Never hesitating to become the fated ones_

"Draco," she breathed. He drew her close to him again, hands firm behind her shoulder blades, turned her until her back met plush sofa cushions. Her nails scratched his back as he rose on his knees between her legs. He groaned quietly and fussed impatience with his trouser placket. She worked her hips up, thrust against his hardness with her softness and wiggled out of her simple knickers.

_Turning and returning to some secret place to hide _

_Watching in slow motion as you turn to me and say... my love..._

"Oh, love," she whispered as he lay flush against her, easily working trousers down and kicking shoes to the floor. Her legs were smooth and cool against his hot hips and thighs. Draco decided quickly that if 'casual attire' meant no complicated stockings or brassieres, he would support it over 'formal wear' any day.

He felt her sticky eagerness against his bollocks, ground his cock against her clit to hear her gasp. He slid inside her slowly, tightness threatening to undo him as usual. But this time he didn't close his eyes, didn't look away. He'd never realised how simply beautiful she was at _this _moment, _this _moment when they came together _this _way - this intrinsic, animal, magical connection.

Her eyes widened once he seated fully. Her mouth was a perfect 'o' and a whimper escape her swan throat. His breath caught...and he gave his first, slow, long thrust.

_Take my breath away... _

Narcissa wasn't looking away, either. Her eyes were black with desire and shiny, twinkling with the light from the telly. When her tongue flicked out to wet her dry lips, he chased it with his own, caught her mewls and moans like snowflakes to taste.

Soon she was rising to meet him, urging him with her body to do what both were simply too overwhelmed to say: More, faster, harder. He complied, set a pace that punished only in its increasing intensity, punctuated his thrusts with the hip roll that arced her like a possessed woman. "Yessss," she managed, still watching control fight on his face.

But that control was slipping dangerously.

_Through the hourglass I saw you, in time you slipped away _

_When the mirror crashed I called you, and turned to hear you say..._

"Gods, mother." He kissed her. Sloppy. Tasted their sweat. "Please, come with me..."

_If only for today..._

Her hands slid up his straining back, curled over his shoulders, tightened like her cunt. "I am, darling."

He forced his eyes to watch - to see on her face the scalding rarity of lust fulfilled; the liquid swirl of emotions in her soul-mirrors, the pleasure, pain, joy, fear and abandon that accompanied that blissful tension in her thighs, that irresistible pull around his cock.

She was a vampire, a siren, a succubus eating his essence.

_I am unafraid... _

But their bodies shuddered like winter leaves still clinging to the branch. She fed him her groans - a mother bird forcing succor - and he realised she didn't _drain_ him so much as _sustain _him. _This_ moment more than orgasm - this giving and receiving, dying and reviving. _This_ was life.

_Take my breath away..._

He collapsed atop her, arms shivering from exertion, back stinging from her scratches. His buttocks still flexed, the muscles recovering from their ordeal. Her hands stroked his flanks, soothing them. She kissed his ear. "My love..."

He pulled his face from the slick crook of her neck. Smirked and kissed her. Smiling during a kiss felt wonderful and eventually, they were laughing. "Oh, mum." She pushed him away, touching at her hair and reaching here and there for her clothes. Draco stretched leisurely. "What now?"

She stood to step into her knickers, looked at him over a shoulder. "I thought you were watching your muggle film."

"Oh, yeah." The film _was _still on...but watching Narcissa dress was more entertaining. "You're beautiful, you know."

She chucked his shirt at him. "Flattery gets you everywhere."

He chuckled as he redressed himself. "There's a loo down the hall."

"Thank you, son."

He cast a few refreshing charms here and there when she left, even a few on himself. The couch was even more comfortable now, and Draco settled in again to watch the muggle fliers complete their quest to be the 'top gun.' And when his mother returned from the lavatory, she nestled into his side again and humored him as usual. Occasionally, noise from below drowned out the telly, and Draco could tell the party was at its peak - whatever that meant.

But he felt safe from it, bastioned by soft woman and soft sofa. Soon her commentary was running again, and the Malfoys were deeply content. This time, Draco didn't even shush her.

"Why does a director need an assistant?" The credits were rolling and Narcissa was reading. "It can't have been difficult to tell a few muggles to look cocky and fuck slowly. What on earth would an assistant director do?"

"Make tea?" Draco pressed the 'power' button and the telly blinked out.

"Hm." She looked at him. The room was far darker now without the light from their movie. "Son?"

He knew what she would say. "Yes?"

"We should go." There was still obnoxious laughter and music beneath them.

"There could be another film on."

She grinned. "I'll get you a telly for the manor."

"Alright, then." He stood, offered his hand and pulled her to her feet. "Certain you don't want to stay a while, mum? It's possible Kingsley's had a few firewhiskeys if you'd like to buy us another six month's supply of fresh apologies. And I imagine we could probably lure Potter into several more embarrassing innuendos before we -"

"Draco." She put a finger to his mouth and leaned into his chest.

"Yes, mum?"

"Take me to bed, or lose me forever." Her smile was beguiling.

He embraced her. "Well, when you level terms such as those..." They kissed, and Draco quietly opened the door. He checked the hallway and found it quite empty. "Come on."

They descended the stairs equally quietly. It sounded like the soirée had moved beyond the dining area and into the parlor. Someone was playing a piano and there was terrible singing. Confident they would pass unnoticed, the Malfoys scurried passed the parlor entrance.

"Oh, there you are." They froze steps from the front door. Turned guiltily to see...

"Luna!" Draco greeted again over-zealously. "We...er..."

Narcissa stepped in. "We found a muggle television," she explained. "And I'm afraid we got rather distracted by it."

"Understandable." Luna nodded. "Neville and I have a telly, too. But it seems we only ever snog when it's on. They're good for that, you know."

"Hah! No, didn't know that," Draco replied too loudly. He swallowed. Narcissa patted his back. "I'm sorry we disappeared that way. And I hope that Potter and Miss Weasley understand that we - I, that is - have some rather pressing...business... to tend to. So!" He clapped his hands together. "We'll just -"

The young witch's pleasant smile didn't falter. Her slightly glazed eyes seemed to understand. "It's all right, Draco. I know you both feel terribly awkward at events like these. It takes a long time to overcome our pasts sometimes. But I'm over being held captive in your cellar for months if that means anything to you."

"Uh..." He was speechless. His mother shifted subtly closer to the door.

"Anyway everyone thought you'd already left," Luna continued. "But I'm glad I get to say good-night. So...good-night." And she turned on her heel. Floated into the parlor.

Draco turned to his mother to find her already out the door. "Wait!" He rushed to catch up.

The evening air was crisp and bracing. It smelled of freedom. Just past a little muggle park, the Malfoys ducked into a tall hedgerow to apparate. Narcissa, pink-cheeked and winded, tucked her arm into her son's, prepared for the magic that would spin them and take them home. But Draco paused. When she looked at him, he was looking down at her. She smiled and drew his head to hers.

Draco discovered that apparating while kissing was a distinctive head rush.

_Probably a bit like flying one of those F-40's..._

**AN: **Thanks to Narcissa Nerea for the challenge that birthed this Malfoy Manner. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I think the Malfoys had a lot of fun living it, if I must say so myself. So now - what's the first piece of muggle film excellence that Draco acquires for his own telly?


End file.
